The Vanishing Pints
by Sioux99
Summary: A little coda for the end of The Vanishing Point.


When McKendrick reaches up and puts her arms around my Sergeant's neck I turn and face forwards, checking the twenty pound note. If Jim's luck holds he'll be occupied for the rest of the evening, I think to myself. Hope to myself really, the lad deserves some time in company more congenial than his crusty old boss.

Right, choices. Home, or ... sod it! I fancy a pint.

I retrace my steps and enter the pub which Jim had been trying to get me into just a few minutes ago.

It's quiet and dim inside, not one of our usual haunts but pleasant enough. A few locals are scattered around holding quiet voiced conversations, none of whom pay me any attention as I collect my drink and walk over to a table in a more well lit corner of the bar.

I'm nearly at the end of my pint, flicking through a newspaper someone has discarded when another glass slides onto the table and my tall, lanky partner sits down opposite, sinking his own pint by a few inches as he does so.

I frown, checking the clock behind the bar.

'What are you doing here?'

'Having a drink, Sir.'

'And the fair Inspector McKendrick?'

'Has an early start in the morning.'

I can feel my face settling in to a silent question. If I'd been given a welcome like that I would have been expecting a longer stay in the lady's house.

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible I try and work out if Hathaway has redressed himself. The task is made more difficult due to his unusual work attire of white t-shirt and jeans under his jacket. After a few seconds I give it up as a bad job. It's none of my business anyway.

'You know you don't have to spend all your off-duty as well as on-duty time with me.'

'Bored with me already, Sir?' he replied., showing not the slightest sign of annoyance.

'You know that's not what I meant.'

I pick up the fresh pint whilst he ingests a fair amount of his own in two large gulps.

We're companionably silent for a few minutes. I finish the paper and close it, Hathaway pulls it across to his side of the table and opens it, reading forward from the back pages.

His attention on the news gives me a chance to study him in peace. There's a faint flush of pink along his cheekbones but that could be a combination of alcohol and the heat in the pub. His eyes are moving rapidly under his down turned, pale lids as he scans the news print. He looks happy enough to say he's just been saying goodbye to an ex-lover and a colleague who has leap-frogged him in the promotion stakes.

'Do I have a mark on my face, Sir?' he asks without lifting his head.

'When are you thinking of putting in for your Inspector's exams?' I ask, ignoring his question and refusing to be embarrassed at being caught starting.

He shrugs, the gesture somehow looking elegant.

'Think I have more learning to do first, Sir.'

'Drop the Sir, it's Rob or Robbie.'

He nodded in acknowledgement.

'You hungry? Or is your microwave meal for one calling you?'

'Cheeky bugger! And, yes, I could eat. What do you fancy?'

He grins at me, the light of the devil in his eyes before he asks,

'Indian?'

We settle on a little place we've eaten at before, which is just down the road from my place. A couple of Indian beers slip down rather nicely with the food. James is upbeat and entertaining and the hours evaporate until I realise that the waiters have cleared every table in the place and are waiting for us to leave.

Outside on the pavement I say,

'Take your time coming in tomorrow. We've put some hours in the last few days.'

He smiles and nods then leans towards me. For a second I think he's going to lean down and kiss me but at the last moment he aborts the gesture, instead putting his hand on my shoulder and squeezing as he says,

'Goodnight Robbie.'

I watch him sauntering off into the night, hands in his pockets, long legs making short work of the distance to his home.

Thoughtfully I cross the road towards my place.

I thought I'd just been spending a winding down evening with my Sergeant, having a few pints and a curry, so why do I now feel like I've been on a very tentative first date?

I take my musings and puzzled thoughts towards my own front door and my bed trying to work out what makes my many layered partner tick. It would appear that this is going to be a long and on-going project.


End file.
